After the Rain, A Thousand Tomorrows

Looking Back at 2025 2025 has been a blur. The first quarter felt heavy, like moving through fog. Grief wrapped itself around every day—sometimes quiet, sometimes crashing like waves I couldn’t control. Family needed me too. My brother was in the hospital for almost a month with gout, and I had to juggle his care along with my own emotions. My little nephew struggled with his exams, and my siblings needed support. Through it all, the waves of missing you were constant, especially at night. I would look at the ocean and feel your absence, yet at the same time, sense your presence in memory. By the third quarter, I felt more stable. Tears still came, but I could manage them. Work became routine again, and by the fourth quarter, I could feel myself regaining some strength. Healing isn’t linear, but I could see the small victories. Gratitude Amid Loss Looking back, I realize how blessed I am. Alhamdulillah, I can eat, laugh, work, and even make small choices for myself. I’ve learned to tak...

Hi Sayang How are you doing...it's been a while kan Ok sit down, let me share with you my day Just now, I finished my morning ritual with a little self-care — lotion on my hands and feet, a small act that feels like telling my body, you are important, you are loved.  These quiet gestures, simple as they are, become a conversation with myself, a way to honor the life I continue to live while holding you close in my heart. It’s strange how Sundays used to look. In previous years, we would wake early and head out together — doing laundry, stopping by the nearby kedai makan for roti canai banjir, and slowly wandering through the neighborhood.  There was fulfillment in the simple motions, in sharing the ordinary, the comfort of routine, the quiet companionship that filled every corner of the day. Now, Sundays are different. The routine remains, but it’s gentler, quieter, more reflective. I exercise, enjoy a modest breakfast, and let the music and memories fill my mornin...